


move forward, forge ahead

by marimoes, shishiswordsman



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crew as Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Thriller Bark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishiswordsman/pseuds/shishiswordsman
Summary: He doesn’t know what happened, just like he doesn’t know what Zoro did. He doesn’t need to know, either. But he knows that before he passed out, his knuckles had been bloody, the skin burst open from punching and punching and punching, and now —Luffy looks at Zoro’s hands, or what little of them he can see through the layers of gauze, and he thinks he understands. Not in a way he could put into words or explain, but in a way he can feel in his heart, the weight of the knowledge settling into his bones, into the space between his ears.He doesn’t need to know.





	move forward, forge ahead

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of a collaboration between marimoes and shishiswordsman, doing what we do best: crying over zolu.

It’s been eight hours since they defeated Moria, when he stirs.

Luffy wakes up stiff and slightly sore, his body weary like he has come to expect it to be after a fight. But, there’s no pain, no sting of healing wounds, no protests when he wiggles his fingers and toes. It’s weird — not the kind of foggy painlessness that Luffy knows would mean he’s too pumped up with analgesics to realise he’s hurt, nor is it like the numbness born from adrenaline coursing through his veins, blocking out anything that isn’t between him and his fists.

Luffy gets up, yawning. He’s been sleeping on what looks like a blanket laid down on a slab of wood, and the room he’s in is empty, unfamiliar. Used to waking up in bizarre places, Luffy stretches his limbs, cracks his neck, and rolls his shoulders in their joints. Every movement is fluid and painless.

Huh.

He must have just gotten lucky, which is neat! Or, maybe he’s slept a super long time, and that’s why he’s all healed up by now. Shrugging, Luffy decides he doesn’t need to give it that much thought. What really matters is that he’s missed two meals, and that is what he thinks about as he slips his feet into his sandals, follows the sounds of people and the smell of cooking meat.

He finds his crew in a large ballroom looking place. There’s Nami, laughing with Lola, bandaged but okay. There’s Sanji, who’s a bit worse for wear but still standing; twirling on his toes in that weird way Luffy’s tried to copy a few times with very little success. He always falls on his nose, and Sanji always laughs. What a jerk.

He rubs the last remnants of sleep from his eyes with his knuckles, searches for the rest of his crew. His smile widens with each one he sees. Usopp. Robin. Franky. Brook, his latest nakama. They look okay, too.

Two are missing.

Luffy tilts his head, confused. “Where’s Zoro?” he asks, loudly, demandingly, because he can’t see his first nakama anywhere. “Where’s Chopper?”

It’s Sanji that reacts to his call first. Luffy knows him well, despite the short time they’ve sailed together — well enough that the flash of pain on Sanji’s face does not escape his notice. Sanji bites down on the unlit cigarette between his teeth, and he nods his head to a closed door close to him. Luffy furrows his brows.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and then, more importantly, “Oi, Sanji, are you making food? I’m hungry!”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “I’m always making food with you around, Shitty Captain. Go check on Marimo while I finish this.”

“Aa, what’s wrong with Zoro?” Luffy purses his lips. He hops over to the door; pulls on the handle, steps inside.

The room’s messy, is what he notices first, because he can barely get the door open with how many sheets of paper cover the floor. There’s bloody towels, jars and jars of weird looking goo, and then — 

There’s Chopper, looking tired, overworked. He’s standing on a tall stool by a table, mixing some herbs together. When he sees Luffy, he lets out a cry of relief. Luffy catches his doctor with ease as Chopper launches himself into his arms. He inspects Luffy with keen eyes, patting his little hooves all over Luffy’s arms and chest, making sure he’s not hiding an injury.

“Luffy!” the little reindeer shouts, “You were so hurt, I was worried! Are you okay? Is there pain anywhere?”

“I’m okay, Chopper!” Luffy assures, because Chopper’s his nakama, and his nakama shouldn’t worry about stupid things like non-existent pain. “I’m fine, I’m not hurt at all! Hey, where’s Zoro?”

A horrible look takes over Chopper’s face; something torn between anguish, horror, guilt and shame. It makes Luffy’s own face twist in concern, because he doesn’t understand. But then, Chopper turns to look at something behind him, and Luffy follows his line of sight to —

Oh.

Luffy tilts his head. He sets Chopper down somewhere — he doesn’t notice where, because that’s when Luffy notices Zoro. His first mate, his first nakama, his Zoro. Now that he’s caught a glance of him, Zoro’s all he sees; his feet carry him over to Zoro’s cot, his flip flops hitting the stone floor the only sounds in the room. And Luffy doesn’t look away from his first mate, not even for a second.

Zoro’s pale, the skin under his eyes sunken, dark like he has two black eyes. He’s coated in bandages like some sort of mummy, and if Luffy couldn’t clearly see the etiolated pallor of Zoro’s skin, the gauntness in his cheeks, he’d probably find it funny.

As it is, right now, Luffy simply stares. He cocks his head to the side, eyebrows creasing. He eyes Zoro over, taking in the massive bruises peeking under the bandages here and there, the deep lines of exhaustion on his face, and the bits of dried blood still stuck in his hair.

“Luffy,” Chopper says, his voice a cautious whisper, a wavering faith. “He’s really badly hurt, Luffy. I operated on him for several hours, but his chances aren’t good.”

Luffy nods, silent. The rise and fall of Zoro’s chest is shallow, too weak. Luffy’s not used to seeing Zoro and thinking weak, and he hates that he does now. Even when he was all but split open back on the floating restaurant, his chest peeled and bleeding, his eyes overflowing with tears, Luffy’d still thought Zoro looked strong.

Now, he looks like he’s hanging on by a thread.

Chopper continues, “We don’t know what happened, but based on his injuries —”

“I don’t wanna know what happened,” Luffy cuts him off, shaking his head sharply. If he’s going to hear it from someone, he’s going to hear it from Zoro. Idly, Luffy pokes at Zoro’s cheek. “Hey, Chopper — when’s Zoro gonna wake up?”

Chopper looks at his feet, fiddling with his hooves. He looks small. “I don’t know, Luffy. His condition is only barely stable. He might not — he might,” Chopper sniffles, absolutely crestfallen, devastated. He tries to finish the sentence, but bursts into hopeless tears halfway through.

Luffy gets what he’s saying. He leans over, wrenches Zoro’s eyelids open with his forefinger and thumb. When that fails to make Zoro blink and huff and shove him away, Luffy frowns. “He’s really out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Chopper says in a wobbly tone; big, welling tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m doing everything I can.”

Luffy grins, reaching out to pat his doctor on the head. “I know you are! Because you’re the best doctor ever, and if anyone’s gonna fix Zoro, it’s gonna be you!”

Chopper looks incredulous, though he leans to meet Luffy’s touch. “It’s not that simple. He might not make it.”

“It is. Zoro won’t die,” Luffy states. He gets what Chopper was saying, he really does. He understands that Chopper was trying to prepare him for the chance Zoro might die here, without ever reaching his goal. He understands.

He just doesn’t care. It’s Zoro. His Zoro.

Luffy shrugs. “I’m gonna get Zoro some booze. That’ll make him feel better.”

“Luffy, no —”

Whatever else Chopper was about to say, Luffy doesn’t hear it. Because he’s already out the door.

He draws in a deep breath as soon as he’s past the threshold, because the air now smells more like meat and sweat and piss again. Inside of the makeshift infirmary, it had smelled of blood and antiseptics and his nakama’s pain, and it was cloying and thick and hard to bare.

The party’s only getting started, and it looks like it has the makings of being a good one. There’s a lot of relieved and happy people, a lot of booze and food, and good music. Luffy quickly gets side tracked, because Sanji’s cooking, and Usopp’s telling a cool story, and Nami’s got treasure, and — well, there’s a lot going on.

He wishes he could stay out here, almost, but every time he stops to talk to someone or dance with someone, his mind wanders back to that closed door. The door that leads to Zoro and Chopper and an absence of Luffy.

So, Luffy finds some food and the biggest barrel of sake he can find, winds his arm around it once, twice, three times, and he heads back to the infirmary.

On his way back, he passes his newest crewmate. Brook plays a soft, sombre tune on the piano, his fingers gentle where they meet the keys. Brook’s fingers are weird — they’re just bone, there’s no skin, no muscle, not even fingernails. As he watches Brook play, Luffy wonders if the musician can feel the cold ivory keys as he presses them down, one by one.

Luffy doesn’t recognise the song, but that’s okay. He still likes it, enjoys the lilt of the melody, the sound of Brook’s content humming. He likes looking down, too; seeing his shadow overlap with Brook’s. It’s nice to have them back.

When Brook tilts his head to look at Luffy, it becomes obvious how much taller he is in comparison to his new captain — even when he’s sitting and Luffy’s standing.

“How’s Zoro-san doing?” the skeleton asks him.

Luffy burps, grins. “Zoro’s gonna be okay. Don’t worry.”

Brook’s quiet for a moment, and Luffy waits, chewing loudly. And after a moment, Brook says, “I don’t mean to pry, Luffy-san, but… Perhaps we should prepare for the chance he might not be? I know Zoro-san is unbelievably strong, but his injuries  _ are _ most grievous.”

“Nope,” Luffy denies outright, popping the p. “Zoro’s gonna be fine. He promised me.”

“Luffy-san, I —” Brook starts, his fingers pausing on the keys. Then, he smiles. It’s hard to tell because Brook doesn’t have a face, but Luffy thinks he looks wistful, and he definitely sounds almost sad when he says, “I see. So be it, Captain — I shall prepare a joyous sonnet for when he wakes!”

“Yeah,” Luffy agrees, hopping in place with excitement. “Something with explosions!”

“How imaginative!” Brook starts playing again, and it’s a new song this time. Happier, more hopeful; like the sound of a beginning rather than an end. “Ah, yes, I can feel the melody in my veins. But I don’t have veins, yohohoho!”

Luffy laughs at the joke, because it’s funny. Brook’s going to like it in his crew, he knows it.

And, with his mouth and pockets full of meat, and a barrel of sake tucked under one arm, Luffy wanders back to Zoro. Back in the infirmary, things are still much the same; Zoro’s still not awake, and Chopper won’t let Luffy give him booze. It seems like a stupid thing to ban to Luffy, since booze works for Zoro like meat does for Luffy — if anything would wake Zoro up, it’d be sake.

Luffy puts the barrel beside Zoro’s bed, because that way it’s at least close to him. He sits on the barrel, swinging his feet back and forth, and spends long minutes doing nothing but watching his injured crewmate, working on matching the rhythm of his own breathing with Zoro’s.

He doesn’t know what happened, just like he doesn’t know what Zoro did. He doesn’t need to know, either. But he knows that before he passed out, his knuckles had been bloody, the skin burst open from punching and punching and punching, and now —

Luffy looks at Zoro’s hands, or what little of them he can see through the layers of gauze, and he thinks he understands. Not in a way he could put into words or explain, but in a way he can feel in his heart, the weight of the knowledge settling into his bones, into the space between his ears.

He doesn’t need to know.

* * *

It takes Zoro three days to wake up. When he does, his eyes are half-open, bleary with pain, and he’s too weak to lift up his own head. Luffy doesn’t like it, his face twitching at the sight of Zoro grimacing just from blinking. But that pain is a sign of a fight fought and survived, and there’s not much anyone can do about that.

Even still, Luffy holds Zoro’s hand through it all.

“Captain. You okay?” is the first thing Zoro says. His voice is a mere croak, and Luffy can tell he’s annoyed by how weak it sounds.

Luffy smiles. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Everyone else?”

“They’re all okay.”

Zoro nods. “Good.”

Luffy keeps holding his hand as he falls back to sleep, just watching the steady movement of Zoro’s chest, making sure it keeps moving.

He never asks what happened, because if Zoro thought he needed to know, he’d tell him himself. Luffy knows some of the others know — Brook and Sanji and Robin, at least, based on how they look at Zoro. But he never asks, always leaves the room if he hears them start whispering about it when they think he can’t hear.

Zoro’s still bandaged, and he moves slower, stiffer. He can’t train as vigorously as he’d like to, and Sanji won’t pick fights with him like he normally would, doesn’t rise to the bait when Zoro insults him. And Luffy can tell Zoro’s pissed about that, because he hates being treated like glass, and Luffy gets it. He’d hate it, too. Who cares if there was a fight and Zoro got hurt? It’s still Zoro, and Zoro’s always strong.

So, when he tackles Zoro into the damp grass that coats the deck, making Zoro grunt in pain and Chopper scream in panic, Luffy knows he’s helping.

“Zoro!” he yells, grinning, right into his swordsman’s ear. His arms twine around Zoro like vines around a pillar, and Zoro endures it.

“Captain,” Zoro says, and though the word slips through gritted teeth, he’s smiling all the same. Luffy likes to see his nakama smiling.

He tells Zoro to fish with him, and he does. They punch and cut the lights out of a cool sea crab thing, and Luffy catches a glimpse of Zoro’s satisfied grin when he’s the one to kill it with his new sword. But even still, Zoro’s exhausted even after a short scuffle like that, and the weight of his injuries becomes obvious no matter how hard he tries to hide it from the other Straw Hats.

So Luffy gets them several bottles of sake after dinner, gathers himself and Zoro to a nice shady spot beside the Sunny’s railing, and plants himself firmly in Zoro’s lap. The wind is soft now that the storms of the day have passed, the sun sinking below the horizon. Luffy swears he can taste the sea on his tongue.

Zoro’s skin is warm where it meets Luffy’s, his hair soft where Luffy messes it up, laughing. The others have gathered into the aquarium to play games, and it’s only the two of them on the deck. It’s nice like that. It reminds Luffy of long days spent on a small fishing boat with Zoro, when their crew was only two people and a couple of cans of food. Zoro’s his first, and just as much as there wouldn’t be the Straw Hat pirates without Straw Hat Luffy, there wouldn’t be a Luffy without Zoro. And Luffy loves him with all his heart.

And now, Zoro’s hurt. It’s Luffy’s job to help.

“I wanted to wait until Zoro could tell me himself,” Luffy says when the sun has almost set, the seagulls’ cries quieting in preparation for the silence of the night. “But you haven’t talked about it, so I’m asking.”

Zoro looks to him sharply, waiting for Luffy to continue. A slight tremor runs through him, almost imperceptible. Luffy notices it, and he grabs Zoro’s hand, holds on tight.

“You got hurt real bad,” he says, quietly. He doesn’t say anything, after that, because he can tell Zoro knows what he means. Zoro always does.

“Nothing happened,” is all Zoro says, after a very long while. The words ring with a finality that compels Luffy, ties his tongue and kills his curiosity. He nods back, understanding passing through the captain and the first mate.

So, they sit there, alcohol tingeing their breaths, the setting sun painting their bodies with shades of gorgeous, waning golds and red; just enjoying each other’s presence. And if Zoro’s holding onto Luffy a bit too tight, if he soaks in Luffy’s words a bit too desperately, then that’s okay. Luffy understands. They’re pirates — bad things happen sometimes.

But they’re still there. They’re still alive, together.

Forging ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic is a line from [a song](https://youtu.be/5NdDqal8PTw) that makes us wanna curl into a ball and cry about loyalty for five hours straight.
> 
> Tumblr:  
@shishiswordsman  
@noswordstyle
> 
> Twitter:  
@shishiswordsman  
@__moes__


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